The Old Coast Road | Page 5

text of the Declaration
of Independence.
Perhaps the next most interesting building in this section of old Boston
is Faneuil Hall, the "Cradle of Liberty" whose dignified, old-fashioned
proportions were not lost--thanks to Bulfinch--when it was enlarged. A
gift of a public-spirited citizen, this building has served in a double
capacity for a hundred and seventy-seven years, having public
market-stalls below and a large hall above--a hall which is never rented,
but used freely by the people whenever they wish to discuss public
affairs. It would be impossible to enumerate the notable speakers and
meetings which have rendered this hall famous, from General Gage
down to Daniel Webster, Theodore Roosevelt, and Marshal Joffre.
If you are fond of water sights and smells you can step from Faneuil
Hall down to a region permeated with the flavor of salt and the sound
of shipping, a region of both ancient tradition and present activity. Here
is India Wharf, its seven-story yellow-brick building once so
tremendously significant of Boston's shipping prosperity; Long Wharf,
so named because when it was built it was the longest in the country,
and bore a battery at its end; Central Wharf, with its row of venerable

stone warehouses; T Wharf, immensely picturesque with its congestion
of craft of all descriptions; Commercial Wharf, where full-rigged
sailing vessels which traded with China and India and the Cape of
Good Hope were wont to anchor a hundred years ago. All this region is
crammed with the paraphernalia of a typical water-front: curious little
shops where sailors' supplies are sold; airy lofts where sails are cut and
stitched and repaired; fish stores of all descriptions; sailors' haunts,
awaiting the pen of an American Thomas Burke. The old Custom
House where Hawthorne unwillingly plodded through his enforced
routine is here, and near it the new Custom House rears its tower four
hundred and ninety-eight feet above the sidewalk, a beacon from both
land and sea.
The North End of Boston has not fared as well as the South End. The
sons of Abraham and immigrants from Italy have appropriated the
streets, dwellings, churches, and shops of the entire region, and even
Christ Church (the famous Old North Church) has a Chiesa Italiana on
its grounds. There are many touches to stir the memory in this Old
North Church. The chime of eight bells naïvely stating, "We are the
first ring of bells cast for the British Empire in North America"; the
pew with the inscription that is set apart for the use of the "Gentlemen
of Bay of Honduras"--visiting merchants who contributed the spire to
the church in 1740; vaults beneath the church, forbidden now to visitors,
where lie the bones of many Revolutionary heroes; a unique collection
of vellum-covered books, and a few highly precious pieces of ancient
furniture. The most conspicuous item about the church, of course, is
that from its tower were hung the signal lanterns of Paul Revere,
destined to shine imperishably down the ever-lengthening aisles of
American history.
Before we press on to Bunker Hill--for that is our final destination--we
should cast a glance at Copp's Hill Burying Ground, that hillside refuge
where one can turn either back to the annals of the past or look out over
the roof-tops and narrow streets to the present and the future. If you
chose the latter, you can see easily Boston Harbor and Charlestown
Navy Yard--that navy yard which has outstripped even its spectacular
traditions by its stirring achievements in the Great War. "Old Ironsides"

will lie here forever in the well-earned serenity of a secure old age, and
it is probable that another visitor, the Kronprinzessin Cecilie, although
lost under the name of the Mount Vernon and a coat of gray paint, will
be long preserved in maritime memory.
The plain shaft of Bunker Hill Monument, standing to mark the spot
where the Americans lost a battle that was, in reality, a victory, is like a
blank mirror, reflecting only that which one presents to it. According to
your historical knowledge and your emotional grasp Bunker Hill
Monument is significant.
Skimming thus over the many-storied city, in a sort of literary airplane,
it has been possible to point out only a few of the most conspicuous
places and towers. The Common lies like a tiny pocket handkerchief of
path-marked green at the foot of crowded Beacon Hill; the white
Esplanade curves beside the blue Charles; the Back Bay is only a
checkerboard of streets, alphabetically arranged; Copley Square is
hardly distinguishable. The spires of the Old South Church, King's
Chapel, the Old State House, and Faneuil Hall punctuate the South End;
the North Church, the North End. The new Custom House Tower and
Bunker Hill Monument seem hardly more than the minarets of a child's
toy village.
The writer, as a